


Under the Influence

by sreka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Sex, Angel Wings, Angel/Human Relationships, Angelic Grace Kink (Supernatural), Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester Wing Kink, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Feather Play, Feathers & Featherplay, Grace - Freeform, Grace Kink, M/M, Nesting, Profound Bond, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wing Oil, Wingfic, Wings, bunkerfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-12-18 02:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sreka/pseuds/sreka
Summary: Dean shouldn’t be looking. He knows that.After all this time of living in motel rooms with Sam he understands that privacy is something to be coveted, respected, revered.He had just wanted one godforsaken weekend off. Two full days uninterrupted by hunting or researching to pretend he and his weird, makeshift family were normal.And honestly? Locking himself in his room and spending a few leisurely hours jacking off, pushing himself to the edge of pleasure while thinking about the image in front of him? That sounded like the best freakin’ day off he could imagine.But fantasizing about an Angel of the Lord? Definitely not normal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd (and probably suffering from formatting issues). Feel free to point out any errors so I can fix them.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Dean shouldn’t be looking. He knows that. 

He swallows thickly, wishing he could break his gaze away from the scene in front of him. 

He really, really knows better. 

After all this time of living in motel rooms with Sam he understands that privacy is something to be coveted, respected, revered. 

He had just wanted one godforsaken weekend off. Two full days uninterrupted by hunting or researching to pretend he and his weird, makeshift family were normal. 

In retrospect, his first mistake was telling Castiel that he and Sam would be out for the day. 

Because now he was back. 

And Castiel didn’t know it. 

And Sam wasn’t home. 

And his bedroom door had decent sound proofing and an even better lock. 

And honestly? Locking himself in his room and spending a few leisurely hours jacking off, pushing himself to the edge of pleasure while thinking about the image in front of hiM? That sounded like the best freakin’ day off he could imagine. 

But fantasizing about an Angel of the Lord? Definitely not normal. 

 

🜹🜹🜹

 

Castiel bit back a moan. His wings had been hidden, stiff and tight for the better part of two weeks. 

The hunt the men had returned from kept them sleeping in motel rooms, researching in libraries, and talking to witnesses for days. He hadn’t had a minute to himself, much less the privacy he needed to stretch his wings and relax. 

The shower room was thick with steam, hot water pouring down on his plumage.

He was standing far away from the water, a pair of linen pants slung low on his hips. Trying his best to keep his vessel -- his own body now, he supposed -- dry, he arched the tips of his wings back into the spray. He desperately wished for a lake, a pond, a large tub, something to soak in.

Preening in his bedroom was fine for maintenance, but it didn’t hold a candle to luxuriating in hot water. 

He stepped backwards cautiously, trying to stretch and fluff as many feathers as possible under the spray. A few stray drops of water landed on the junction where feather and skin met and he gave up all pretense of trying to remain dry. Leaning his head back in pleasure and stifling another moan, he stepped further back into the spray, allowing the water to drench his feathers and sooth his aching muscles. 

Might as well take advantage of the empty bunker. 

Dean watched open mouthed as Castiel sat down on the floor of the shower, shoulders slumped forward and wings curled around in front of him. He was soaking wet, water dripping from his hair down his chest, pants clinging to his body.

Dean breath was stuck in his throat.

Castiel grasped at the long primary feathers stretched out in front of him. Eyes closed, he carded his fingers expertly through the feathers; separating, gliding, smoothing the feathers back into place. Dean watched transfixed as Castiel maneuvered his hands through the thick wings, his face blissful, expression unguarded.

He was stretching now, his wings straightening along his side. He curled an arm around his waist to touch the feathers up and on the underside of his left wing. He let out a moan and his head fell back against the shower wall with a soft thud.

Biting a knuckle and trying to ignore the tightening in his jeans, Dean fled. 

 

🜹🜹🜹

 

Dean spent the next few hours in his bedroom. The first two passed in a heady blaze of vivid imagery and intense pleasure. The next few hours were spent trying to figure out the best way -- and time -- to let Cas know he was home. 

He contemplated waiting until the evening when Cas would be resting in his room, sneaking out to the garage, and making a racket with slamming the entrance door and barrelling through the kitchen. 

He contemplated simply waiting out the night, hunger be damned, and walking into the kitchen as if he had never even mentioned the idea of a few days vacation. 

In the end, Castiel made up his mind for him. In the middle of a detailed daydream in which he confessed his love for Cas over the breakfast table, Dean heard a soft knock on his door. 

He jumped up, heart beating quickly

There was only one person it could be. 

He opened the door a crack, meeting Castiel’s gaze and praying his face didn’t betray any of the thoughts he had had about the man in the past four hours. 

“Hey, Cas.” 

“Hello, Dean,” he narrowed his eyes at the man, lips parting as if he wanted to say more. Dean waited. 

“I saw the Impala. I thought you had gone.” 

“I uh, decided to hang back.” 

“I see.” 

“Yeah.” 

The men stared at each other for a few tense moments. 

“Want burgers for dinner?” 

Castiel studying him for a moment before nodding and walking down the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean hesitated.

He needed a shower.

His lower stomach and hip was still slightly sticky under the shirt he had hastily thrown on, despite going through quite a few tissues in the clean up process. The moment he entered his bedroom he had stripped down and flung himself on the bed, too worked up to think about needing a shower after his...session. He teased himself for more than an hour, slipping right to the edge but never allowing himself to tumble over the brink. During a minute or two when he was giving himself a break, idly running his fingers across his chest while imagining running a fingertip down the length of a feather when he thought oh shit, I’ll need to shower later tonight. 

This, of course, delved into filthy fantasies of Castiel still occupying the shower. And he was done for. 

Dean peeked his head down the hallway, seeing Castiel’s bedroom door shut. Now that Cas knew he was home, he certainly wouldn’t be in the shower, wings spread and -- 

Stop. 

Dean entered the shower room and grabbed a towel before flinging his clothes to the corner of the room. He turned on the shower head and willed himself to think about something, anything, other than the ritual Cas had been doing in here a few hours ago. 

He kept the water cold and soaped himself up roughly, letting the water do more of the cleaning than his fingers. Despite his older age lengthening his refractory period, he wasn’t too confident he would able to stop himself from running his fingers down the wall where Cas’s head had been resting and letting his mind wander. 

He shut the water off before anything too graphic could come to mind. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he was headed to gather up the pile of clothing from the corner when something sleek and black caught his eye, peeking out from underneath his henley. 

He panicked at first, his mind spinning ectoplasm? leviathans? blood? before he realized what it was.

It was a feather. 

A single, iridescent black feather was lying under Dean’s pile of clothing. He shifted the clothing aside. 

The feather looked slightly damp, sleek with the barbs smoothed down and just the smallest fluff of down at its end. Dean suppressed a shiver at the memory of Cas’s long fingers working the plumage into a glossy order.

He stilled. Should he leave it? 

Castiel probably didn’t know he had left a feather floating around the shower. He was very private about his wings, and rarely said or did anything to invite questioning about his true form. 

But then again, Castiel surely heard the shower on. If he found the feather later on and knew Dean had been in here it might make him uncomfortable. 

Dean’s fingers itched to reach out and take it. 

If Sam found it…

In a split second he made his decision. The thought of Sam grabbing up the feather later on and questioning Cas about it sent a surge of jealousy running through Dean. 

He gathered up his pile of clothes, tucking the feather between his pants and shirt, hiding it well enough to transport it to his bedroom unseen. 

He sat heavily on his bed, not caring that his wet towel was soaking into his bedspread. 

He ran a finger down the length of the feather and then back up, watching in awe as the barbs of the feather separated under his touch. 

Down the hall, Castiel shivered. 

 

🜹🜹🜹

 

A few hours later, Dean was knocking on Castiel’s door this time.

“Soups on, Cas!”

He didn’t bother to wait for Castiel. He turned on his heel and walked towards the kitchen, his heart beating faster when he heard the angel’s door closing softly behind him. In an instant, Castiel was standing next to him and the pair entered the kitchen. Cas peered at the stove. 

“I thought we were having burgers.” 

Dean smiled fondly, “it’s just an expression.” 

He handed him a plate and the pair headed to the stove in silence. As they prepared their meals and sat down to the table to eat, Castiel looked pensive. 

“Why did you decide to stay home?” 

“Dunno. We headed up to hang out with some other hunters and it ended up being all shop talk. I didn’t want to hear it.” 

“Why?”

“I wanted a few days of not thinking about work. Don’t get me wrong it was a fun group, we were having a good time, but… I don’t know. Just wanted to shut my brain off for a few days, I guess.” 

Cas nodded slowly in understanding, his blue gaze piercing into Dean. 

“I can appreciate that.” 

Dean hummed his assent and took a swig of beer. 

The pair were quiet for the rest of the meal, each meditating on their own thoughts. 

 

🜹🜹🜹

Castiel sighed, doubling checking that his bedroom door was locked before stripping off his shirt and lying in bed. 

He laid in bed that evening thinking about Dean and his want to ‘shut his brain off.’ Cas had never considered the idea before. He wasn’t sure that he understood what Dean meant, really, but he imagined it was similar to how Dean had urged him to quote-unquote relax for years.

He now ate, tried to sleep, and sat on the comfortable couch instead of the hard wooden chair -- even though, strictly speaking, he didn’t have to do those things. He had trusted the older Winchester’s advice on human matters years ago. It wasn’t until he had fallen and lost his grace that he truly appreciated what comfort meant.

But it was only after he regained his grace and experienced his wings manifesting on the human plane that he truly understood pleasure.

When the Winchester brothers left for the weekend, telling Cas they were going to ‘take a few days off’ - Cas decided to stay behind and experience his own method of relaxation. 

With Dean home, his plan was complicated. 

Lying on top of the covers, shirtless with his wings spread, he decided he would try to take Dean’s advice on another, very human method of relaxing.

It wasn’t that Dean had ever explicitly suggested that Cas masturbate before. The hunter had just made comments in passing about cleaning the pipes or wiggled his eyebrows suggestively while saying he wanted to spend some quality time alone in his bedroom at the bunker. Having witnessed humanity for centuries, Castiel put two and two together. This must be something that Dean would recommend to relax, if it was considered appropriate to talk about to other humans. He had tried the act a few times over the years, with varying degrees of success. 

He hesitated, running his finger tips along his hip bones and along the waist of his trousers. 

He was too preoccupied with Dean. 

It seemed impolite to touch himself while thinking of the man, despite knowing that it was when his thoughts strayed to the hunter that he had the most...success, as it were.

He had loved Dean Winchester since he first touched him in hell. On this he was certain. But the evolution from pure grace-to-soul connection to a love of more human and primal sort was something Castiel was less comfortable with. It seemed far too intimate to think of Dean in a sexual manner. 

His wings were becoming twitchy thinking about Dean and sex in the same moment. 

His wings were relaxed on the bed, long primary feathers just barely touching the floorboards, the junction of feather and skin trapped between his body and the bed. He felt a very subtle dampening sensation between his shoulder blades, the soft down on the underside of his wings become warm as if his vessel were perspiring. He shifted his shoulders from side to side, pushing his neck further back into the pillow and relishing in the feeling of the sensitive feathers brushing against hot skin. He longed to reach back and rake his hands through the down and plumage. He longed for Dean’s fingers to -- 

With a snap, he lifted his wings off of the ground and turned himself over onto his stomach. He meant to distance himself from the pleasure, to cut off his traitorous thoughts. But he found that the friction from his hips pressing into the bed was equally sinful.

Face down in the pillow, he groaned.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wasn’t going to look at it. 

He wasn’t. 

He would put it away, keep it safe from Sam and any other prying eyes. 

But something was drawing him to it. 

At first he chalked it up to professional curiosity. 

He was familiar with angels, sure, but not their wings. How often would he have a chance to see that again. Even if Castiel was willing to share his secrets in the name of research, Dean wouldn’t be able to sit in the room and card his fingers through the thick layers of feathers without immediately making Cas, Sam, and everyone around uncomfortable. Hell, just the thought of it… 

It got later and later, and the urge to open up his sock drawer with the false bottom grew stronger and stronger. 

He was just horny. That’s all.

He spent another hour touching himself, thinking of Castiel’s shimmering wings, taut stomach, and those wet pants sticking to his thighs. He was just struck by the novelty of the wings and it was making him crazy. If someone told Dean not to touch… well. 

Two exhausted orgasms later and Dean was ready to haul himself down to the basement and chain himself up. He had to actually physically restrain himself from opening up the drawer and stroking the feather. 

All of his energy was pinpointed on this single idea. His vision blurred, and the room around the drawer faded. He stared at the handle with laser-like focus. 

Using as much energy as he could, he tore his eyes away and glanced at the clock before whipping his head back to face his dresser. 

11:09pm. 

Fuck. 

He’d been around enough cursed shit to know he couldn’t chalk this up to curiosity, horniess, or his goddamned unrequited love.

This was only going to get worse. 

Before he knew it he was standing at the dresser, one hand on the handle of his sock drawer. The humiliation he felt at going to Cas to seek some kind of respite was keeping him from leaving the room. But a little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like the gravelly angel countered him, urging him to seek him before it was too late. Do not be a martyr Dean Winchester. 

Finally, the thought of Sam returning home to find Dean rubbing an angel feather over his naked body was enough to force him to seek out Castiel.

The walk down the hallway felt like tearing his feet through concrete. He made it to Castiel’s bedroom door with an enormous effort, every fiber in his being urging him to turn back, to run for the feather and cradle it in his hands.

He lifted a shaky fist to Castiel’s door and began to knock, but the door flew open and he was face to face with six feet of half-naked frazzled angel. 

Castiel looked...edible. His hair was as wild as Dean had ever seen it, his eyes wide and frantic. He was panting, bottom lip red and shining with saliva as if he had been biting it to keep quiet. Dean bit back and startled noise, glancing down before his brain had caught up with the situation enough to send a warning: turn back, don’t look, you won’t be able to help yourself.

He was shirtless, his flat stomach led down to deliciously sharp hip bones, peeking out from his undone belt and khaki pants with fabric straining. 

Dean gulped. His wings were magnificent. They were flared out behind him, flight feathers dragging along the ground. The ridges along the top were puffed up slightly, the feathers standing on end enough for Dean to see each one clearly defined in the backlighting from the bedroom. Castiel shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, hissing slightly as his wings touched the door jams. 

The men were frozen in place, staring at one another. 

Dean let his eyes wander again, slowly taking in the length of Castiel from his quivering feathers to his bare toes, curled against the wood floor. Castiel rested a hand on the door frame to hold himself up, looking up at Dean with a hungry expression.

Dean inched closer. Castiel smelled intoxicating. A deep rich smell like sandalwood and the sharp tang of the air before a lightning storm. Dean felt a tingle run through his body, hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

Cas’s wings arched towards him, the tips dusting along the floorboards and reaching out as if to curl around Dean’s ankles. They were spread open, the damp undersides of the wings visible to Dean, shining like an oil slick in the dim light. The angels lips parting, eyes trained on Dean’s, and he let out a soft moan. 

Dean felt himself surge forward, hands craving Castiel. He dreamed of touching, stroking, grabbing a fistful of feathers and pushing him against the wall.

Move, move, move, his brain was screaming at him. Throw him against the door, push him onto the bed, rake you fingers down the underside of his wings and see if you can make him scream, make him beg, make him plead…

Castiel let out another desperate noise, the ends of his wings softly touching the backs of Dean’s jeans.

A spark of electricity, cold and tingling, ran through Dean as if someone had carbonated his blood stream. The urge to throw himself against the angel was so overwhelming he felt his vision momentarily recede. He pushed himself forward, into Castiel’s space, into his room, and felt the door slam shut behind them. The gust of cool wind jarred Dean out of his reverie. 

“What the--what the fuck, Cas? What’s going on?” 

Castiel took a panicked step backwards. Dean could see his chest heaving. 

“I d--I don’t--” He was stuttering, hands shaking. 

Dean wanted so badly to wrap the angel up in his arms, to comfort him and claim him, but he was too afraid to move.

“Just,” Cas took a deep breath to steady himself. “Just go outside.”

Whatever Dean had been expecting, it wasn’t that. 

“Outside?” The men had shuffled towards each other unconsciously, Cas’s wings aching to touch Dean and be touched by him, arching toward and out. The angel stepped backward, his face pained. 

“Outside my room. Just stand on the other side of the door.” Castiel’s face was still flushed, but the steely look of determination that Dean was used to had returned. Dean forced his body to obey, practically sobbing when Cas shut the door in his face firmly. 

“Okay,” Castiel’s voice was muffled through the door. Dean sunk to the floor and leaned his head against the solid wood, “Okay. Give me a minute.” 

Dean inhaled, trying his best to capture Cas’s scent despite their barrier. 

“Dean, I may have done something that is causing our current..predicament.” 

Dean’s breath was stilled, he was hanging on every word of Castiel’s strained speech.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I was…I used the shower room earlier.”

Dean felt himself flush. Did Castiel know he had seen him? I hope he has, his traitorous brain supplied. I hope he knows that I want him and opens this fucking door. I hope he…

“Dean I can feel your soul. It’s reaching out to my grace.” 

“Okay,” Dean breathed.

“Try to think of something… else.” Castiel sounded as though each word was strenuous to get out.

Dean blinked several times. 

“What?”

“I can feel you thinking about… me. My grace. It’s very,” Cas was searching for the right word and Dean could practically feel him pressed against the door, “distracting.” 

Pushed against the door, wings straining, reaching out to Dean, wanting Dean, willing to be taken and --

“Dean!”

“I’m sorry. Sorry. I--” 

“No, I’m sorry. I had no idea my grace would linger for so long. Or that it would affect you this way. It is most unexpected.” 

Cas sounded so guilty. 

“If it is any consolation, I’m sure that it will fade quickly. Once the physical manifestation of grace is gone there is no reason for it to affect you…” 

Sad. Cas is sad. 

Dean’s brain had turned primal. Help Cas. 

He pressed a palm against the door. 

“Let me in.” 

“That would be unwise, Dean.” 

“Let me in, Cas.” 

“I cannot. You aren’t operating under your own consent.” 

“Cas…” He pressed his forehead against the door, lips ghosting against the surface.

“Dean please,” Cas begged, “please be silent.” 

Dean moaned and felt a flare of grace, tingling once again as a few feather tips snuck their way under the door. He leapt on them like a starving man, fingers grappling for purchase on the sleek ebony feathers.

He managed to get a good grip on a few of the feathers, feeling equally guilty and elated as he heard distressed moans of pleasure. He rub a finger against the feather vanes, whispering to Cas all the while. 

“It won’t go away Cas, it won’t fade.” He grazed his thumb along an edge.

“This isn’t from your shower Cas, this is just me, I swear. This is really my soul, you can tell can’t you. Please let me in Cas I need you. I need to make you feel better. I need it. I need you.”

Dean lost track of time whispering this litany, chanting and stroking Castiel’s feathers, listening to the angel moan until he finally fell into a hypnotic trance.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up with a stiff neck, leaning against Castiel’s open bedroom door. 

Groaning as he stood he stretched his back and neck out, peering into Cas’s room. 

Suddenly, he was flooded with the memory of the previous night. 

Fuck. fuck fuck fuck. What did he do? Where was Cas? 

“Cas?” 

He searched the bunker, methodically opening the door to each bedroom and calling out for the angel. He finally found him in the library, wings once again invisible. 

“Dean. Please stop there.” 

“Cas,” He felt his face flushing, “Cas I am so, so sorry. Please, you can’t imagine how --” 

He stood thirty feet away from the angel, but he was already starting to feel the tell-tale tingling coursing through his body. Castiel shuddered, evidently feeling the same surge of grace. 

He pushed his chair back a few inches further. 

“I’ve been reading,” he gestured down at the book open on the table, “it seems that my grace shouldn’t affect you once the physical manifestation is gone. I’m...unsure why you are feeling this way.” 

Dean’s stomach dropped. He searched through the memories of the previous evening. He hadn’t even managed to tell Cas about the feather. 

The angel was biting his lip, looking pained.

“It’s my fault.” 

“No, Dean,” Blue eyes met Dean’s, “no.” He began to say something softly, and Dean vividly recalled that this angel - his angel, his perfect, wonderful angel - would go to the ends of the world to reassure Dean that he was worthy.

“Yes, no. Stop,” He took a breath, “I stole your feather.” 

Castiel looked puzzled.

“You - what?” 

“There was a feather in the shower room yesterday. I took it. I meant to… I was feeling weird last night, which is why I came to your room and…” He trailed off, looking apologetic. 

“I was just…” He held out his hands, shrugging. How could be possible explain the overwhelming need to touch? 

He was still feeling as though he was being pulled by invisible threads towards the angel, but he was able to control himself this morning.

“Did you destroy it? Is that why this,” he gestured lamely at the space between the two of them, “isn’t as strong?” 

Castiel shook his head. 

“I didn’t realize you had anything. I’m suppressing my grace.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes. where is it?” 

Dean glanced back towards his room. 

“My room. I’ll go get it.” 

“No. I should.” 

“Right. Uh, top left drawer.” 

Castiel nodded and inched past Dean, leaving the library.

For a few tense moments Dean felt a painful longing, then the same sharp need, tinged this time with panic and sadness. He was halfway down the hall to his room, determined to grab Castiel, rip the feather from him and hide it, gather the angel up, never let him -- 

And suddenly nothing.

It was gone.

He felt the connection to Cas’s grace end sever as suddenly and sharply as if he had been stabbed through the chest.

It stopped him dead in his tracks.

He watched Castiel leave his bedroom, blue eyes briefly meeting his before giving him a quick nod and disappearing into his own room. 

 

🜹🜹🜹

 

It was Tuesday. 

Castiel had only left his room two or three times, hoping to avoid Dean.

Dean only left his room at meal times, hoping to run into Cas.

Sam sat in the library, watching the men drift through the hallway, eyes searching for one another. 

Sam finally approached Dean in the kitchen one morning.

“I’m not going to ask,” Sam chose his words carefully, “but if you want to talk about whatever happened, I’m here.” 

He left the kitchen before Dean could chew him out. 

After that, he didn’t see Dean or Cas for a few days. 

Finally, it was a phone call from Gabriel that led Sam to seek Dean out. 

“Dean,” Sam knocked on his bedroom door, “Dean Gabriel called and left a message for you. Apparently your voicemail is full.” 

Silence. 

“He said if you didn’t talk to Cas he would going to drag you two to celestial couples counseling.”

Silence. 

“Just… turn your phone on and call him okay? I don’t want to get anymore...graphic details.” 

Sam turned on his heel and headed to his laptop, desperate to find a case a few states away that could get him out of the bunker.


	5. Chapter 5

A few hours after Sam had knocked on Dean’s door to tell him he was meeting up with some hunters to tackle a wendigo, Dean padded down the hall to Cas’s door. 

“Cas? Cas, can we talk?” 

The angel opened his door and nodded, pushing past Dean into the hallway, taking care not to touch him. He glanced back at Dean.

“Sorry, it’s just…” he cleared his throat, “Is the kitchen okay?” 

“Sure.” 

For several minutes after settling in, the men stared at each other across the table, both too afraid to make the first move or break the tense silence. Dean absentmindedly peeled the label on his beer while Castiel sat stock still, staring at Dean. 

“Cas, I’m sorry. I should’ve know not to mess with angelic shit.” 

Castiel winced and looked away, “and I am sorry for the misunderstanding.” 

Dean fiddled with his beer bottle, drawing lines up and down in the condensation. Misunderstanding…Dean wasn’t sure he would classify it as a misunderstanding, exactly.

He should have told Castiel about the errant feather immediately, of course, so that he wouldn’t be practically forcing himself on the angel. Dean’s aggressive behavior isn’t something Cas should be apologizing for...

“I get that you feel your grace caused this or whatever, but it’s not your fault, Cas,” Dean said quietly, “I should have left the feather alone or told you about it.” 

Castiel was quiet. 

“No. I am so very sorry, Dean.”

The angel quelled Dean’s interruption with a dark look, “my grace has been bound to your soul since I first touched you in hell. For me to take any chances with exposing you to it was… reckless and foolish. I should have been upfront about this possibility since the beginning.” 

Neither man spoke for several minutes. Castiel was staring anywhere but at Dean. As the minutes passed, he was becoming uncharacteristically fidgety. After a few minutes, he stole a quick glance up at the hunter. Dean was still fiddling with the beer bottle. Castiel sighed and began to rise from the table. 

Dean could feel his pulse quicken. He needed to do this.

“I wasn’t…I meant everything I said, Cas.” 

Jesus, I should just say that shit...

He steeled himself for the possibility of Castiel’s disapproval, disgust, or hatred. What he didn’t prepare himself for was Cas to dismiss him outright.

Having crossed halfway through the kitchen, Castiel turned back to Dean with a roll of his eyes. He leaned against the island countertop for a moment, before pivoting and wrenching open the refrigerator. He grabbed a beer and, wrenching it opened, he turned back to face Dean, eyes hard. 

“I know you meant it. You were drugged.” 

“No. That’s not it.” 

The angel’s stare intensified, if that was even possible. His blue eyes were turning stormy and his jaw was set rigidly, mouth pressed into a firm frown. He broke eye contact and swallowed thickly, staring over Dean’s shoulder to some point in the middle distance. 

Dean felt the absence of his gaze as sharply as he felt their connection snap when Castiel had destroyed the errant feather.

“You’ve been influenced by my grace for a long time, Dean. You may think you’re speaking freely, but…There have been many instances where my grace and your soul have interacted, outside of hell. I’ve healed you, and so on.” 

“You’ve healed Sam.” 

“It’s not the same.”

“So, I’m under the influence of your grace now?”

Castiel was surprised by the harsh edge in Dean’s voice.

“In a way, yes...” He flinched as Dean got up from the table and crowded into his space. “I think it’s best if I leave, Dean. I truly didn’t mean for --” 

He was cut off by Dean pressing against his lips. 

His eyes fell shut for a brief moment before shoving Dean off of him. 

Dean peered down into his face defiantly as Castiel kept him at bay. The angel’s face was a mixture of shameful, terrified, and furious. 

“You don’t want this, Dean. You were drugged. I will not stand by while you--” 

“Cas, no. Stop. I was drugged. Last week. I know the difference between what I’m feeling now and what I was feeling then, okay?” 

“My grace must be lingering in your system in greater quantities than before. It’s best if we stay apart for…some time.”

He turned on his heel and tried to leave the kitchen, only to find Dean blocking his way. 

“How much time, Cas?” 

Castiel didn’t respond. 

The tension in the room met a boiling point; everything both men had feared for the past few days was coming to a head; the unspoken question finally said aloud: 

“You’re going to leave, huh?” 

Crowding into his personal space - what a strange twist of events - Dean practically felt the steely resolve leaving Cas’s body. 

“Listen.” He gripped a hand on Castiel’s right shoulder, clinging to him like a desperate, drowning man.

He swallowed, “this is not a spell, I’m not drugged, okay? I… I felt your grace leave.” 

Castiel didn’t say a word, but stopped his half-hearted struggle to tear himself out of Dean’s hold. He met Dean’s eyes questioningly. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but in the end he just stood there, just waiting, finally willing to hear Dean out.

“When you took the feather and...destroyed it or whatever you did. I could feel...you, your grace, whatever. I felt it leave. It felt like being punched in the gut, Cas. I know - no listen,” 

He tightened the hold on the angels shoulder, silently begging him to hear him out,

“The way I’m feeling about you today is exactly the way I’ve been feeling for… God, for years now.”

Castiel let out a vague huff of disbelief. 

“It’s true. I’ve….” Dean pulled the hand away from Cas’s shoulders to run it down his face, “I’ve had a stupid fucking middle-school crush on you for years, okay?”

“I’ve never felt your grace before, honest to god. If I had, I would remember. I would definitely remember. So yeah, yeah. Maybe some tiny little bit grace has been bouncing around my meat suit, but I haven’t know about it. I haven’t felt it, Cas, it hasn’t affected me, I’m not under some love spell. This is just...me. It’s just me. I’m just...in love with you.” 

The hand remaining on Castiel’s shoulder was loose and Dean pulled it away slowly, letting his fingers trail down Cas’s soft shirt sleeve. His eyes were pinned on the stubborn stubble on Castiel’s jaw, unable to look the angel in the eye. 

He heaved a large sigh, glancing up at Castiel’s bemused and slightly shell-shocked expression. Dean gave the angel a small rueful smile. 

“So. There you go.” 

He turned to leave the kitchen, He was hoping against hope that Castiel wasn’t planning on packing. 

Well, I’ve thrown my cards down on the table, whatever he wants to do is —

“Okay.” 

Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat, still refusing to look at Castiel, “Okay.” 

Before he could leave the kitchen, he felt a firm grip on his wrist. 

Dean turned and, as if abiding by some unspoken but terribly important agreement, both men silently sat back down at the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s The Talk. I was originally going to post this and the next part as one longer chapter, but the next part is filthy, filthy smut and I just can’t seem to write without it sounding forced and strange. The next chapter should be the final one, but I may continue to play around in this verse. Thanks again for all the kind words and kudos!


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel looked at Dean intensely, studying the man’s freckled face and dropping his eyes whenever Dean looked up. 

Dean watched Cas intensely, studying the angel’s set jaw for several heartbeats, because Castiel glanced back at him. 

The minutes stretched on. Finally Castiel sighed quietly.

“So.”

Dean nodded. 

Cas nodded.

They looked at each other and finally, finally managed to hold a heated gaze for more than an instant. 

Castiel bit his lip, eyes dragging down Dean’s face and neck, lingering on his lips. Dean stared hungrily at the tongue peeking out by Castiel’s teeth. 

Dean snapped his eyes back to Castiel’s; green eyes met deep blue before darting back down to Cas’s chapped lips again. He could practically see the pulse thrumming in Castiel’s neck. 

Dean’s skin began to flush. He could feel himself become hot and tense. He practically had to physically restrain his body from reaching out towards the angel’s. 

Castiel leveled another intense stare at Dean and licked his lower lip unconsciously.

Dean’s beer bottle landed on the floor with a crash.

Castiel’s flung sideways on the table, spinning uselessly as the liquid poured across the table and dripped onto the floor.

“God, I want - “ 

“Yes - “ 

The men were on each other in an instant. 

Dean’s fingers threaded their way into Castiel’s thick hair, all pretense of civility gone. He pushed his body against the angel’s forcefully, cupping the back of his neck and angling Castiel’s jaw up so he could kiss him properly. His thumb trailed along the sharp jawline, caressing the harsh stubble he felt there, tongue pressing against the angel’s parted lips.

Both men were moaning, though the noise was stifled by the deep, filthy press of tongues. Castiel had fisted the fabric of Dean’s shirt, clinging on to him like a lifeline. They broke for a breath before Dean was crashing back into him, pressing, pushing, opening him up, sliding his hot tongue along the shorter man’s. 

“Dean, wait.”

Cas pulled away, arching his neck to look up at the hunter. 

“Are you sure you -- ?” 

“Cas,” Dean growled, shutting his eyes and leaning forward to press their foreheads together. 

“I need this so badly.” 

He felt the angel stiffen at the words.

“No,” He pulled away from the angel and took a step backwards. 

“I don’t need this,” He took a few more steps backwards, gesturing at the few feet of empty space between them before reaching out for Castiel’s hand, “but I really, really want it.”

He gave Cas a cocky grin and his heart leapt when Cas returned his gaze with a small smile.

“Bedroom?”

“Yes.”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand and pulled his body close, peppering kisses along the side of his neck and taking two steps backwards at a time in an effort to make his way out of the kitchen. He paused every few feet to recapture Castiel’s mouth in a searing kiss, to drag his hand down the angel’s side and slip his fingers under the hem of his shirt. 

“Your room?” He ran his tongue along the angel’s clavicle, pushing his collar out of the way with his nose and burying himself in the junction between neck and shoulder.

“Yes,” Castiel hissed.

“Mine is closer.”

“Then —“ 

Cas gasped as Dean began tearing at the buttons on his shirt, rubbing a rough hand along his chest and nipping at the sensitive flesh of his neck, “then yours.”

“You sure?” 

Dean’s fingers working deftly at Castiel’s belt buckle, unlatching it and tugging on the newly freed leather ends to pull the man deeper into the hallway. Cas stumbled along, hair mussed and drunk with lust.

“I don’t care.”

By the time they made it into Dean’s bedroom, Dean was weak in the knees and rock hard.

Castiel fell backward on the bed, sitting up enough to slip his shirt off and shrug out his pants, leaving on just a pair of soft, white, and very tented boxers.

“I can…” The angel glanced over his shoulder questioningly. 

Dean realized with a start that the air behind his back that he was gesturing to was the space where his wings would materialize, if he so chose. The angel tilted his neck and began to roll his shoulder blades back. 

“No.” 

Castiel peered up at Dean, head tilted in puzzlement. 

“No wings. Not… I want.” Dean was hopping on one foot trying to wiggle out of his socks. He paused, putting both feet on the floor and resting his hands on the bed on either side of Castiel’s hips.

“I need you to know I want you. Just you. Not,” he pressed a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips, “everything else.” 

Castiel pulled him down, tumbling the pair forward until Castiel was pressed into the soft bedspread, his dark hair outlined against the stark white pillow. 

Dean’s hips slid deliciously against the angel’s. He felt Castiel’s sharp hip bones pressing against his stomach, his hardness pressed against his upper thigh. Dean let out a sharp moan as he shifted his weight, angling himself so that he could gain some friction for his own erection. Castiel was panting beneath him, his blue eyes grown dark with desire, smooth chest heaving. 

Just the thin cloth of their boxers separated the men. Dean’s body was practically vibrating with the need to rip the angel’s remaining clothes off and press hot skin together. Castiel thrust up against him impatiently, grinding their hips together.

They kissed - hot, wet, filthy - while their bodies to undulated together, fingers darting across one another’s skin. Dean pulled himself away from the angel’s lips and, ignoring the small growl of frustration, he pressed a hand down against Cas’s right hip to slow their thrusting.

After waiting so long, he didn’t want this to be over too soon. 

Dean began trailing down Castiel’s neck and chest, nibbling and licking along the way. He allowed his fingers to ghost across the angel’s skin, running finger tips down his chest, brushing a thumb against his nipple. Castiel arched up at that and Dean glanced up with a wicked grin. 

The hunter ducked his head down and gave an experimental lick to Cas’s nipple, gradually lavishing it with more and more attention. He allowed his fingers to trail down further and further, caressing Cas’s lower stomach and fingering the waistband of his boxers, one hand still pinning his hip down. 

Castiel’s moans were low and filthy, nothing like the quiet and demure sounds he had imagined in his fantasies. The angel had one hand fisting the bedsheet and another gripping Dean’s shoulder while he pleaded and cursed for Dean to hurry. He was insistent and aggressive, and it occurred to Dean that of course Castiel would be every bit as intense in bed as he was as a warrior. 

Shivering at the thought, Dean slipped a hand under the waistband of Castiel’s boxers, fingers searching for purchase on the hard erection he was desperate to touch. He pumped a fist up and down its length for a moment before removing his hand and laughing softly at the groan of frustration from the man above him. 

Dean slid down the bed, mouth in line with Cas’s tented boxers and peered up at the angel. 

“Be patient.” 

Before Cas could bite out a retort, Dean began mouthing at his hardness through the soft fabric of his boxers. Whatever Castiel had been planning on saying was cut short by a harsh moan.

His breath was hot against the fabric. A few damp spots were darkening the fabric where Castiel’s cock had begun to leak and Dean tongued them greedily before sitting back on the bed and tugging the material down with a sharp yank. 

He took a moment to appraise the angel, desperately wanting to explore every exposed inch of him, before yanking off his own boxers and dropping back to down to join Castiel on the bed. 

Dean lay on his side, rolling Castiel up and tight against him and intertwining their legs. Both men hissed in pleasure as they slid together, Dean’s hand reaching down to wrap both of their hard cocks in a fist. He began pumping, allowing his thumb to trail through the beads of precum gathered at their tips..

They kissed deeply and slowly, Dean trying to calm their frantic pace in order to relish this first experience together.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured between kisses, “come on.”

He thrust his hips up into Dean’s tight fist, and Dean swore he heard breathy moans of more...more...

Dean murmured his agreement against Cas’s mouth, sliding his fist down to the base of their cocks and tightening his grip to slow the build of their orgasms. 

“What d’you want?” 

Cas didn’t respond, but continued to thrust hard into Dean’s hand, head buried in the junction between shoulder and neck, breathing heavily. 

“Just...I can’t…” 

Dean moaned into Cas’s hair. He was close, so close. Cas was too, if his incoherent mumbles and stuttering hips were anything to go by. The delicious slide of their cocks was reaching a fever pitch and every never in Dean’s body was singing. He could feel his stomach growing taut, his cock throbbing. It was all he could do to keep himself from spilling over the edge. His arousal was magnified tenfold by the fact that the warm body pressing against his was Cas. Castiel, his angel, beautifully undone. 

Cas let out a sharp cry and stilled his hips. Dean’s face had been buried in Cas’s soft, messy hair. His eyes had been shut as he tried to limit his stimuli in order to last longer — one look at those wide blue eyes and wet lips and he figured he’d be done for.

“What’s wro—?”

He snapped his head up and ceased pumping his fist, meeting the angel’s eyes in time to see him roll his shoulder blades back. Two black wings thumped softly on the bed, the feathers trailing off the mattress and onto the floor. 

“I can’t,” Cas shut his eyes and tried to keep his hips from thrusting unconsciously, “can’t help it...” 

Dean knew Cas was too far gone to offer any real explanation.

“Is...can you...” Dean pulled away from Cas slightly, staring at the beautiful wings, “do you…” 

Dean was trying to find a tactful way to ask if wings manifesting was just par for the course with angel orgasms when Cas interrupted him crossly, clearly understanding what Dean was struggling to ask.

“I can’t really control it, Dean,” Cas managed to sound prim and snippy, albeit raspy.

“Okay! Okay…” Dean groaned in frustration, pulling away from Cas completely, much to the angel’s displeasure.

“Do you want me to keep going?” 

“Yes.”

“Roll over.” 

Castiel’s mutinous look changed to confusion. 

“It’s gonna feel good, right?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said slowly. 

The angel opened his mouth to say more, but Dean cut him off. 

“If you say one goddamn thing about being under the influence of your grace I swear to God…” 

This time Castiel cut Dean off, rolling over promptly and giving Dean a full view of his gorgeous muscled back and fanned out wings. 

“Fine,” the angel muttered into the pillow.

Dean inhaled sharply, lowering his hands to rest on Cas’s waist. The angel immediately thrust into the bed, trying to find friction for his aching cock. He gave a small tsk of annoyance as Dean slowly began running long, calloused fingers across his lower back.

“Patience, darlin’” 

He ran his hands up and down Castiel’s side, finally daring to rub small circles in the space between his wings before trailing down his back, his ass, his upper thighs. Cas seemed to melt into the mattress. 

“Can I…?”

His hands hovered over Cas’s feathers, which seemed to sense Dean’s body heat and shift up to meet his hands of their own accord. 

“Yes.” 

Dean started slowly, grazing his fingers against the impossibly soft feathers. Dean wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting. He had anticipated the feathers would be silky and stiff, like those of a duck or like raven feathers he had used in spellwork. 

This was different. This was touching air, touching clouds, and velvet, and glass all at once. 

He moaned, his fingers inadvertently curling into the impossibly downy softness. Cas’s back arched and he let out a desperate moan. 

Dean began dragging his fingers through the plumage, carding his way through the layers of down and feathers, slowly taking Cas apart. 

The angel was letting out the most delicious string of desperate moans and pleas, rubbing himself against the mattress and practically weeping with overstimulated pleasure. The combination of Dean’s hands rustling through his wings and the friction of the bedspread was driving him crazy.

Dean’s cock, on the other hand, was untouched. He was straddling the angel’s hips, completely lost in the pleasure radiating from Cas’s wings. Cas’s grace seemed to envelope Dean, his body and his soul. He was peripherally aware that his cock was dripping precum, throbbing in time to their heartbeats. 

“Cas,” Dean moaned.

Cas’s incoherent response was muffled by the pillow. Dean threw himself forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the dewy skin between Cas’s wings, where shoulder blade and soft feathers met. The skin there was vaguely shimmering with what Dean had thought was perspiration. 

But it wasn’t. 

It was something sweet, musky, intoxicating. It had a subtle, earthy taste, like bergamot and vanilla. Dean licked and nibbled his way up the back of Cas’s neck, burying his nose in the crook of his shoulders and flattening himself until he was lying pressed against Cas head to toe.

He hitched his arms underneath Cas’s wings so his fingers were rubbing circles into the small downy feathers that layered the sensitive undersides of his wings.

Cas arched his neck back, pressing their lips together.

“Dean, please…”

“What do you need, darlin’?” Dean managed to rasp out. He sole focus was on his angel. What did Cas need? How can he pleasure him? How could he make him reach nirvana?

Instinctually, Dean slide his cock against the cleft of Cas’s ass. His primal, human urge to claim Castiel mixed with a much more ethereal urge - to burying his fingers in Cas’s wings, to stroke them and pet them. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to thrust or fuck or come or any of the other things he usually loved so much. He just wanted to exist, suspended in time in this moment of pure pleasure with Cas. 

Castiel, however, was becoming impatient. 

Dean freed one hand, propping himself up on the elbow and reaching to collect some of the wonderful slick oil from the base of Cas’s wings. He ran the hand haphazardly down his back, rubbing the oil on Cas as he went, trying to save enough to coat his cock with the substance. 

Cas arched his neck back to watch, moaning in encouragement. 

“Dean, yes. Please.” 

“Is this okay?” Dean panted in Cas’s ear. 

“Yes, yes.” 

He could tell Castiel was on the edge, lustful to the point of recklessness. He arched his ass up towards Dean, pressing insistently against the hunter’s cock. But Dean was determined to open Cas up and guide himself into the angel slowly, painlessly. 

His fingers grazed across Cas’s entrance, pushing just a fingertip in when he sudden felt his world shift. 

He landed on his back, suddenly staring up at the ceiling with his view obstructed by one messy head of hair and two matching, gorgeous wings. Castiel straddled him, leaning forward with his hands pressed against Dean’s chest, and pressed himself down on Dean’s cock in one smooth motion. 

“Cas, wha — Jesus.” 

Cas leaned back with his eyes closed and let out a harsh moan, the sensation totally overwhelming him for the briefest of moments before he snapped his eyes back to Dean’s. 

“I’m not going to break, Dean, I’m an angel.” 

Dean was about to respond but Castiel began to move, began riding his cock and thrusting himself up and down with equal parts determination and frenzied lust. 

Castiel’s wings were snapped out to his sides. The feathers along the top ridges were raised, standing on end and puffed up slightly, the long primary tips curled around the angel’s shoulders and ghosting over Dean’s arms and face with each smooth motion of his hips. 

Dean’s lips were parted as he panted out hot breaths and a constant stream of moans. He was getting closer and closer. Castiel’s rhythmic movements were becoming more erratic and his wings were drawing around the pair. Dean found himself with feather tips occasionally drifting in and out of his mouth and, with a wicked smirk, he gently pressed his lips together, experimentally trapping one. He grinned up at Castiel’s shocked face and sucked on the end, darting his tongue around to lick at the plumage. 

Castiel slumped forward, slamming himself down on Dean’s hips and burying his head in Dean’s shoulder. Dean reached up to curl his fingers along the soft wing ridges, eyes rolling back as a fresh hit of Castiel’s grace coursed through him.

Cas’s cock was trapped between his and Dean’s stomach, sliding against the hunter’s sweat slicked torso. He bit down hard on Dean’s shoulder as Dean trailed his hands down and buried his fingers in the hypersensitive downy underside of his wings.

Cas was writhing on Dean’s cock now, no longer able to make any graceful movements.

“Dean,” he panted, “I’m...I’m…”

Dean turned his head to bury his face in Castiel’s hair.

“I know, darlin’.” He whispered a litany of encouragement and praise while he thrust his hips up into Cas in an effort to push the angel over the edge. He felt the Cas tense, his pleasure reaching a fever pitch and spilling out on Dean’s stomach. 

He cried out. Each feather seemed to stand on end and Dean felt the angel’s grace weaving its way through the plumage and reaching out to caress Dean. 

Throwing his head back and pumping his hips up without restraint, he followed his angel, coming with a stifled groan. He shut his eyes as they rolled back and bit his lip in an effort to keep from screaming himself hoarse with pleasure. Castiel, spent and slumped down on Dean’s chest, instinctively wrapped his wings around the hunter. 

For several minutes the pair were still, cocooned in the warmth and darkness of Castiel’s wings.

Cas recovered first. Dean, who was resting with his eyes shut and still breathing heavily, felt the silky slide of Cas’s feathers along his side and arms. He reached up with a groan to grab Castiel’s arm.

“Don’t move. Not yet.” 

“Alright.”

Dean opened his eyes slowly, not quite ready to ready to face the world. Castiel was still straddling Dean’s hips, slumped forward against his chest with his heading resting in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean’s vision was obscured by the two black wings that had curled up and around Dean’s shoulders, hiding the men from the world. Castiel picked his head up and glanced at Dean. He smiled softly at Dean and shuffled his wings around, pulling them back behind him. 

“May I move now?” 

Dean smiled at the angel and nodded.

Castiel lifted himself off of Dean’s softening cock and laid down pressed against Dean’s side. He rested his head on Dean’s chest, sighing in contentment as Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulder and began carding fingers through his feathers.

Dean felt more than saw Castiel relaxing; the angel’s wings practically melted in Dean’s hands as he continued his slow stroking. He heard the soft rustle of feathers as the wing tips drooped down to the floor and came to rest heavily there. Cas’s head felt heavier on Dean’s chest. He stole a glance down at the angel and saw his eyes were shut and lips parted slightly. 

“Falling asleep?” 

Castiel hummed contently in response. 

Suddenly Dean was aware of how exhausted he was. A million questions raced through his tired, punch drunk brain. From the most trivial passing thought (does Cas have an affinity for birds?) to the most life changing (what exactly are Cas and I now?), Dean tried to grab them all up and catalog them so he could grill Castiel when the angel awoke. But as he drifted off to sleep he realized that didn’t particularly care about the answers. Lying there with his angel, cocooned in the warm of wings and damp sheets, he was blissfully happy. And that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> This ended up being less wing-centered than I anticipated, I think. I'm so fascinated with the headcanons this fandom has come up with regarding wings, so it's likely I'll play more in this universe with grooming, bonding, nesting, etc.


End file.
